


guide us to shelter

by neonsign



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonsign/pseuds/neonsign
Summary: Too many times and without proper aftercare, Yusuke has scrubbed his hands clean of paint or charcoal or graphite. They are cold and rough but when Ren holds them, they start to warm.





	guide us to shelter

**Author's Note:**

> “The importance of touch is that it places you. It is the medium of the articulation of a relationship. Touch yields two different senses — that of connection and that of separateness. It makes for a sense of oneness… as well as for a sense of difference. One thing is sure: if we are not touched, we might begin to suspect that we are not here.”  
> —Kathleen Woodward, Aging and its Discontents

In a Shimokita studio apartment, buried in blankets and bathed morning light, they place their palms together. Ren tries to cheat but Yusuke grabs his wrist and ensures they’re properly aligned. Just as suspected, Yusuke’s hands are bigger.

“It’s those goddamn fingers,” Ren pouts.

His are shorter, thicker — his palms, wider.

“Fire hands,” he says. When he takes one of Yusuke’s in both of his, true to their name, they’re warm. “At least that’s what Chihaya told me.”

With the blankets pulled up to their shoulders, everything is warm. Everything is cotton, sunlight, breath and skin.

“They’re lovely hands,” Yusuke says, “no matter how stubby the fingers.”

“Shut up.”

Their words are murmured quiet; their smiles, half hidden by thick pillows. Lazily dropping sentences once their point gets across, Ren talks more about the four types of hands in palmistry, all with the derision of nonbelief. Shimokita always bustles with life, with students making their way to and from bars, music venues, the theatre — but this morning, their voices are the only sign of life. When Ren says that he has his father’s hands, it resounds throughout the room like it’s the most important fact in the world. Yusuke will remember it like it is.

He spreads his fingers. “Then mine are… what, water?”

“Yep.”

The way Ren treats Yusuke’s hand, it’s as if he’s afraid it really will slip through his fingers. Only when his thumb moves over the skin on the back does Yusuke realize he’s actually just afraid of hurting him; the skin is dry and irritated. Too many times and without proper aftercare, Yusuke has scrubbed his hands clean of paint or charcoal or graphite. They are cold and rough but when Ren holds them, they start to warm.

“Come closer,” Yusuke commands, and Ren obeys, sliding down until his cheek is pressed to his chest.

The pressure makes him aware of his heart, like it only started beating once it was given something to move against. To focus on the feeling, Yusuke closes his eyes. Ren slipping a leg between his, the sound of his contented sigh and the way his shoulders move with it, the taste of morning breath, the twisted boxers Yusuke is too lazy to fix, the scent of reheated takeout still sitting on the coffee table, and the cold air that threatens to invade their sanctuary.

The world darkens too much when Yusuke pulls the blankets higher. A cloud covers the sun, muting the light shining onto them and threatening rain.

A hand slips up the back of his shirt and burns mindless patterns into his skin with fingers like tongues of flame. A thin layer of sweat starts to coat their skin; when Ren moves his leg, they stick together almost painfully. From warmth to heat and if only they could let themselves melt.

Ren’s body jerks away. He checks his watch.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , I’m gonna be late.”

“Call in sick,” Yusuke murmurs. “Let me monopolize your time a while longer.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

Ren slips out from under the blankets and cool air rushes in, all the worse for the absence of another body. Yusuke peers over the blankets to watch him stand on his toes and stretch his arms above his head. He picks up his clothes from the floor and hurries to the bathroom, complaining about the cold floor, and Yusuke is left to stare at the ceiling.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. The line of Ren’s back when his shirt had lifted up, the way the material fell — vulnerability, comfort, domesticity — all of it seen through the gaze of an artist, the gaze of a boyfriend. Roles to define; entwining, inseparable, each informing greater appreciation in the other.

The bathroom door opens at the same moment Yusuke sits up. Something makes Ren laugh and, forgetting the rush he was just in, he makes his way over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a mess,” he says.

The pot calls the kettle black and Ren smoothes Yusuke’s hair while wearing yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled from their night on the floor. It’s all Yusuke can do not to lean into the touch. When Ren’s hand falls, so does his face — not into sadness, but into neutrality.

“Ryuji’s gonna have something to say about me not coming home last night.”

“Ryuji has plenty to say about many things and none of it articulated well. Nothing happened.”

“He won’t believe that — not that it’s his business either way, I just don’t wanna deal with it.” Ren stares for a moment, then goes back to toying with Yusuke’s hair. “This was nice.”

“It was,” Yusuke smiles. “Miss the last train more often.”

Ren kisses him, coming back for a second and third each time he pulls away; even when he stands up he’s still bent over with his hands on Yusuke’s face.

“Speaking of, I really…” he kisses Yusuke’s lips, his nose, his cheek, then pulls away for a final time with a sigh “…should go. See you later.”

“Take care.”

Ren’s hand lingers and then it’s gone. The door shuts with a snap.

Yusuke’s gaze moves slowly around his apartment. Everything, no matter how cluttered, he knows by heart. Too many times he’s glanced around the room looking for motivation or inspiration, and just like all those other times there are no answers for him. Only through willpower does he swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

Some vapid jingle fills the apartment when he turns on the TV, cut short when he flips to something else, something else, but nothing catches his attention so he leaves it on a music channel and gets to his feet. He clears his throat. Throws out the empty takeout containers sitting on the table, letting the trash can’s lid slam shut.

Every noise is answered with silence.

 

* * *

 

“This is the one I use.” Goro holds up a bottle of hand cream, white and decorated with black filigree. “It’s a little pricey but you get what you pay for.”

“Price is… a rather large factor, however.” Yusuke looks up and down the shelves for something cheaper. “They’re all the same in the end, are they not? As long as it works.”

Goro stares at him.

Routine had carried Yusuke through yesterday and then the next, but his mind kept wandering until he followed suit, roaming the streets with a restlessness usually reserved for days he spends painting without pause. There were bills to pay and errands to take care of, but he ended up running into Goro on the train and asked for suggestions. If Goro thought it odd then he said nothing about it; on the contrary, he seemed rather eager to give his opinion.

And now, in a beauty supply shop, he takes one of the sample bottles and instructs Yusuke to hold his hand out, then squeezes a tiny amount into it.

“That’s all you need. A little bit goes a long way, which is another reason the price makes sense.” He watches Yusuke work it into his skin, then moves his gaze up to his face. “An artist should take better care of his hands. I could say I’m surprised you don’t but that would be a lie.”

Yusuke hums lightly. “It _is_ a delight that you’re being more honest these days.”

A saleswoman comes by to check on them and Goro shakes her off with a few polite words while Yusuke brushes his fingers over the back of his hand. The skin is already softer and without the greasy feeling he has come to associate with body lotion. When he slots his fingers together, he can feel it from both sides; it’s not the same as when Ren does it.

“Anyway,” Goro continues, “I really recommend this stuff. If it works for a rock climber’s hands then it will work for yours.”

To demonstrate, he holds out his hands palm-up and wiggles his fingers playfully. Though the skin is clearly thick and calloused, it’s moisturized and supple; as expected, when Yusuke reaches out, he finds them rather soft.

Goro snatches his hands away. His bark of laughter doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You surprised me,” he says, smiling with his hands in fists. “I didn’t expect to be grabbed by the cold hands of death.”

“Don’t be rude,” Yusuke snaps. After a pause, he adds, “They’re not _that_ bad.”

Goro grins and turns down the aisle, speaking over his shoulder. “Hurry and make your decision! I’m going to check out their shampoo.”

The shelves are lined with products all the same but marketed with different colours and promises; Yusuke can’t help but be overwhelmed as his eyes follow them to the end, then to the glass storefront beyond. The view beyond is barely more than a sheet of rain, just like the clouds threatened the entire time they followed him around the city.

He looks down at his hand.

Goro has air hands, short palms and long fingers, and Yusuke’s are almost warm in comparison.

After grabbing the hand cream, he goes to find him.

 

* * *

 

Ann messages them shortly after they leave, saying that she’s with Ren nearby, and the four meet up at a small cafe. Ren is his usual self, wearing a lazy grin that alludes to more than it gives, and Yusuke can’t help but return it.

They sit too close in the booth. Ren talks to the others while his hand finds Yusuke’s under the table, and if he notices the softer skin, then it’s in the way he strokes his thumb along Yusuke’s knuckles.

The conversation gets away from him. Yusuke keeps staring at their hands.

If one were to think on it, from the time they started to get close, touches went from lingering hands to lingering hugs, kisses, and then a night spent in each other’s arms. Something akin to hunger had been satisfied but Yusuke hadn’t known he’d been wanting in the first place.  

Simply put, when Ren slips his fingers between Yusuke’s, he is his body. Touching one’s own skin only creates a self-contained circle of existence. Touching another’s, being touched — creates relation.

“Are you even listening?”

“No.” Yusuke lifts his head. “What is it?”

Goro clicks his tongue but Ann speaks over him.

“He was just… commenting on how good he is at reading the atmosphere.” She shuffles him out of the booth, giving Ren and Yusuke a wink. “We’re gonna head out. Have fun, you two.”

Yusuke watches them go, listening to the cafe’s vague din, until something clicks. He bounds after them and calls out, refusing to cower when his hand on Goro’s arm is met with an offended glare.

“Thank you for your help today.”

“You stopped me just for this?” Goro laughs and again it doesn’t meet his eyes. “It was no big deal at all, I’m always glad to help.”

“I mean it. And more importantly, I had fun. We should spend more time together.”

The edge of Goro’s expression dulls into a blank stare while Ann waits by the door, a blonde blur in the peripheral. Someone passes them on their way inside, bringing with them the scent and sound of rain until the door swings shut with the tinkle of a bell. Yusuke lets his hand fall.

“I’ll… let you know when I’m free,” Goro says.

A smile spreads across Yusuke’s face. After the two leave, he returns to the booth where Ren is waiting and takes his place beside him with a content sigh. This time he’s the one to take Ren’s hand and when he does, he brings it to his lips and kisses his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday yusuke [♥](https://twitter.com/evictionaries)


End file.
